


In the eye of the beholder

by Haberschnack



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Apple of Eden (Assassin's Creed), Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Desmond is so done with this shit, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Isu technologie is confusing, M/M, Multi, Not Really Character Death, Permanent Injury, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2019-12-18 17:31:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18254534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberschnack/pseuds/Haberschnack
Summary: December 1499 Vatican"It is done. The message delivered. We are gone now from this world. All of us. We can do no more. The rest is up to you, Desmond."Isu technology is dangerous but powerful. Two people only connected by vague ancestors and a machine that can view genetic memories are able to meet. Only if the circumstances were better Desmond would feel honored to meet the man he had so long admired. Only if the world were fair he would be able to rest. But the work he started in 2012 is not over and a new plan to finally stop Juno has to be completed before he can die, if he can still die.





	1. Prophet

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, welcome, to a fandom I love very much and am now butchering with my stilted grammar and bad mistakes. Sorry for some wierdness in it cause english is not my first language and I will try to find all missteps. And please tell me if something is bothering you.  
> It will be a bloody and confusing ride, so be prepared. I like to torture my victims, *hust* characters and hopefully help them heal again. We will see.
> 
> In know there are a lot of time traveling fanfics out there and a lot of them are very well written (go on, read them), but I hope mine will be a bit different and enjoyable to read.  
> None of the characters belong to me and I'm only enjoying the ceartive freedom to lend them for a short while.  
> The pairing Caterina and Ezio is nothing serious and I will concentrate on Ezio/Des but farther down the line. For now I will do some world builing around the normal cannon of AC Brotherhood and hope you, dear reader, will find some enjoyment in it.  
> Updates will come sporadically cause I still have another active one (other video game, Dishonored) on my plate and am fighting the side effects of medications from a longer treatment.  
> And now I thank you dearly for giving this a second glance while scrolling and see you next time!  
> Bye!

December 1499 Vatican  
  
"It is done. The message delivered. We are gone now from this world. All of us. We can do no more. The rest is up to you, Desmond."  
Her words had just finish echoing through the glowing but gloomy chamber when her weirdly moving and talking picture grew brighter. So bright that he nearly turned his eyes away.

And he knew.  
He knew she was leaving. Abandoned him here, discarding him with more questions than answers.  
"What? Who is Desmond? I don't understand ... Please, wait! I have so many questions!" voicing his confusion in desperate words he walked towards her, spreading his arms in a desperate plea to know why. He was the prophet, but he did not hear a prophesy that he was decreed to voice to the world.  
No, the confusing message about gods and the sun, war and destruction. A warning about a catastrophe that had happened so far in the past that he could not comprehend it and so far in the future to come again, that his life was not ever to be harmed by it, was not for him.  
It was for Desmond. But where was he, who was he?

But she was already gone. Vanished in her eerie bright light. Untouchable by his words and actions.  
He stood alone in the chamber of a place so alien that cold shivers of fear and revulsion were cursing through him.  
But one thing he did now knew.

He knew how insignificant his life was to a being that was made of light and called herself the name of a roman goddess who no one prayed to anymore.

And he knew that his job here was done.

This vault was a tomb, temple or chamber of madness that held no weapon the templars could use, held no answers anyone would use for an ungodly long time. No. This place was empty.

He should go.

Turning without looking at the weird glowing markings at the walls he followed the path back to the world that he knew.

The world that held his own life and destiny. A destiny he could make himself in his own fortune.

No long dead gods needed.

His job here was done.

 

As he stepped into the vast chamber were the staff of the pope had been impaled into the floor he looked for Rodrigo. At least that evil was defeated. He would not gain the power he sought in those artifacts of bright moving pictures.

But as he looked to the place were he had left the heavy set man, he was gone. He'd left his unsightly stola on the ground and had run.

Coward, Ezio thought with rightful anger cursing through his veins. That coward who had done so much evil in this world for nothing. No weapon, no control.

No Apple of Eden and especially, no staff.

Ezio smirked and left the papal cloth where it lay in the dirt to step towards said artifact.

He should take it with him, as well as the Apple, already stowed in a big pouch on his belt.

Putting one hand on the hilt he pulled.

Nothing happened. He pulled harder, but it wouldn't budge.

Sighing in frustration he clenched his teeth and put both hands around the staff, pulling with all his strength. To his horror instead of pulling it up, the staff went down. Slowly but without him being able to stop it, the holy scepter disappeared into a hole in the ground.

Dumbfounded a second time he looked at the seamless floor where it had vanished completely.

With loud clanging noises, echoing deafening in the camber, the floor he stood on sank deeper, walls coming up higher, making his heart beat fast in his chest.

Was he to be buried in this tomb because his job was done? Was this the reward of a useless prophet? Punishment?

Panic was rising as were the walls. He needed to get out here, pronto!

 

Before his legs were even able to walk the first step, the walls had stopped. A short silence fell over the pit and Ezio thanked who ever that there was still a possibility to get out of this.

“Better in the hands of the earth, than the the hands of man.” the strong voice of Mario hailed from above and down towards Ezio who looked up in astonishment and relieve.

“Uncle?” he spoke in wonder to the older assassin who stood proud and strong on the ledge. For a brief moment Ezio feared that he was an image as well, like Minerva. A last glimpse at the world and family he would leave behind, dying in this tomb of a vault of nothing with their useless message to a phantom and a unwanted prophet.

But Mario was real, calling down to him.

“What can I say.” a smile grazing his hardened features as he looked down to his nephew, who was standing seemingly unharmed and well at the bottom of a chamber no man could have been able to built.

What weird lives they were living.

“We sent a single man against an entire army. I was worried.” Mario clarified his sudden appearance and gestured Ezio towards him while urging him on to find a way out.

 

The way to climb up was not that hard to find.

His ancestors had bestowed him with a truly useful gift, Ezio mused as his hands and feet found the raised grooves on the still glowing walls, that brought him up to Mario's level.

Some of the punches Rodrigo had delivered he truly felt when he finally reached the end of his climb. He was more than happy now to stand before his uncle, some one who he could tell all this witnessed madness to.

“You would not believe the things I've seen, Mario.” no, no one would perhaps. His Uncle was fast to counter his vary words.

“Then be sure to stay alive, that I might hear of them.” he urged, coming nearer and Ezio remembered where they were. They were still in the Vatican. Under the Sistina, the holiest place of this city. In a place that swarmed with guards and templars. “I expect opposition.” he told his uncle solemnly.

Mario gestured to the exit, still looking at him, voice grim with the hurdle they had still to overcome. “And I expect the Borgia to mourn the loss of many lives tonight.” with this words he turned to fulfill his promise, leaving this dead place.

Ezio followed him all to readily out the twisted hallway not looking back once.

The Vault and it's non existent contents no longer his concern. Only for Desmond, who ever he was and where every he could be. Ezio did not care.

 

 

Had he cared,had he looked back, just for a second he could have seen the golden glow that suddenly illuminated the bluish colored walls of the pit he had just climbed out of.

It grew brighter rapidly. Swallowing every shadow and spreading wide, touching the walls and suddenly flickering. Without a command or sound the light pulled itself together, concentrating on the middle of the floor were the triangle made out of gold was set into stone. The place where the staff had disappeared under.

It was over in the speed of a lightning strike, but as silent as a feather falling to the floor and darkness fell over the pit.

Not for long.

Where before just light had been a single beam, it had now taken the form of a body. A human form, lying curled on the floor, naked but shining like the beam that had made him.

His body was streaked with pulsing geometric shapes and parallel lines. Gold that grew darker as the light faded into them until he only glowed faintly.

Silence hung in the old vault when formerly brown eyes opened to shine in a bright gold.

Scarred lips opened to take in his first breath and he screamed as his hands, one unmarred and faintly golden lines shining, the other blackened and mangled, gripped his short brown hair in agony.

 

What had they done?

 


	2. Purpose out of time

The pained scream ended in a harsh coughing fit that shook the naked body to the bone, which were more than visible.

Panting he pushed numb arms under him to regain his bearings.

The faintly glowing blue light of the vault under the Vatican greeted him in silence.

Even though pain and sadness were still coursing through his cold, cold veins, he felt a sense of relief to see this sight. The place was the right one, now he needed to know if the time was also and if the person and object he so dearly needed were still near.

Closing his eyes again he let the new found ability he some how knew he possessed flow from his mind.

Following the winding path out of the Vault he felt him. No not only felt, he also saw him. A golden light, warmer than the sun in summer was highlighting him in a sea of dark and pale blue.

Ezio was not far, he was not far and he had the Apple.

Faster than he thought his body could even move, he stood up, knees week and feet still numb he pushed forward, the golden figure of Ezio still in his sight.

Panting he moved forward, catching himself on the walls to not fall, he finally reached the exit. The vast chamber of the Sistina, still filled with early morning light and figures in brown habits turned away from him. He could see him now with his own eyes. Still glowing golden in in his vision but also like he remembered.

Dark hair, pulled together into a loose ponytail with a red ribbon. Broad shoulders fitted with a side cape and dark and silver armor. He only needed to shout and Ezio would turn.

He had the Apple, he could wield the Isu artifact to end this senseless journey they had to endure. Could end the plot of scheming goddesses and change history. Make it better, better the chances of humanity to life without the influence of artifacts and dead gods.

He only needed to raise his voice. Bring forth the name of his ancestor.

But his voice did not come. Breath leaving his mouth without making a sound. Silence even though his mind and body were screaming for him, he would not hear it.

Ezio stormed out of the chapel without turning, following the dark figure of his uncle.

The door closed and they were gone.

 

His knees gave out on him and he sunk to the floor. The golden figure grew paler. Ezio was leaving without him. Was fleeing from guards and the papal forces now hunting him for attacking Rodrigo Borgia. Fleeing with the Apple to the safe haven and home of the Auditore family.

And he was still here, sitting on the cold floor that sucked all power out of his aching body.

 

The deep rumbling of stone pushing back into its former slots and closing the entrance of the Vault that had been hidden under the Vatican made the mass of men in habitats turn in fright.

Frightened eyes fell on the naked figure kneeling on the steps, while the hole behind him closed seamlessly again. Leaving the stones that formed the sigil of the pope undisturbed once again.

Shouts suddenly started to disrupt the shocked silence.

Questions were shouted at the man kneeling inertly and starring into space who was still glowing from strange markings on his thin body.

Men pointed at the weird lines adorning his skin and the blackened arm, which hung uselessly at his side. Panic was rising, but the man kept still, looking at nothing and no one, because the one he had been looking for had fled this place. He wasn't visible to him anymore and even the new ability he had gained was not seeing him anymore. The power that had been glowing from him grew ever weaker and left him panting and shivering in the room full of panicked men.

Tiredness overcoming him he let his head sink to his chest, just breathing slow and deep, not thinking, just existing.

 

In this pose the alarmed guards, who had not been trying to follow the two fleeing assassins, found him. The priests and monks had formed a loose circle around the lone figure that they had to break through.

The man looked not very dangerous. More corpse like, with a gruesome injured arm hanging to the floor. Naked, unarmed, looking down, eyes closed. But he was here. In the holiest place of the whole world. Appearing right after two assassins fleeing the city in a mad dash. One of them who had tried to kill the pope.

Sharp spears and swords were trussed forward as they drew nearer with caution.

Yes all of those happenings were concerning but what was more concerning was the odd light that was still coming from the kneeling man. Lines on his body glowed in a faint golden color, pulsing dully, getting weaker with every minute that went past.

“Step to the side, his Holiness is approaching!” came the shout from behind.

The guards reacted in the well trained manner they were known for and made an opening to let the man through, not letting the person of interests out of their sight. Their captain came forth to report to his master and the master of the whole church.

Pope Alexander the VI was still looking wide eyed and angry red but slowly turning black bruises were showing on his unusual pale face. His piercing gaze laid shortly on the captain, before they found their way to the man on the floor, still glowing very faintly, but not moving.

“The priests say he came from the hole in the ground were you and those assassins had come from.” the captain informed his master in a hushed voice. Eyes flitting between the pope and the strange man on the floor in obvious nervousness.

“He was glowing golden!” someone from behind shouted, others falling in with their observations before a white gloved hand was risen and all of them were silenced.

“He came from the Vault.” Rodrigo Borgia whispered to himself in wonder. His mind was working as he took in the golden lines on pale skin. The same lines that had adorned the piece of Eden he had lost and the strange walls of the Vault that was gone again.

What ever he was, he had come from this place of power. Power Rodrigo was going to posses, to wield. This person might be another key, another power source, another artifact. Possessing knowledge that was too frightful to be known to the common masses. Only he and his family should know and wield this power. And what ever he was, he would not leave this place without giving him answers he sought.

With long strides he made his way towards the kneeling form. His gloved right hand gripped the short brown hair to pull the face of the stranger upwards.

As his fingers touched the other mans scalp he could feel the power surging through his skin. Power he had never felt and he pulled his hand away again fast, as if burned.

The man had opened his eyes and was looking listlessly at him. Brown orbs flashed golden for a moment and he let his head fall forward again.

Rodrigo was breathing heavily, still shocked but elated by the power he had come in contact with and turned to his guards. Frightened sheep looked at him, for his guidance, because he was the one in power, the only one possessing power.

He grinned and turned fully, hands rising to give blessing.

“My dear children in faith.” he addressed the hushed chapel, everyone hanging on his lips.

“God has bestowed this humble servant with a gift. Don't fear but praise our heavenly Father in his grace to grand us a symbol of his will!” his voice rang like bells and moved the monks and priests to fall to their knees. Praising God, thanking him and reaching hands out to be blessed by their Sheppard.

Rodrigo called his captain over who had knelt down like the rest. “Cover him with your cape and bring him to the Castello immediately. Don't let anyone see what you are transporting and put him in the most secure cell we got. You will not leave him out of your sight until I'm back.” he whispered urgently.

The man nodded still in awe but his eyes determined and trusting. He pulled his cape off and draped it fast over the kneeling man before he called two more over who helped him to get the unmoving person as fast as possible to the Castello and out of sight of prying eyes and unworthy people.

Rodrigo continued his preaching, distracting the kneeling mass from the fast removal of this powerful entity.

Later he would find out what he was and how he could use him. How he could wield this power he had felt. He would be a god himself.

“Amen!” he shouted and elated voices followed him. Shouting their praise to the havens. The havens that would soon only know one God, one holy family. The Borgia.

 

 

* * *

 

His body was waking up slowly. He knew that he was in shock. He knew the feeling all to well. Had it felt after Abstergo had found him. The boogie man his parents and their crazy doomsday cult had feared so much, strong arming Desmond blind folded out of the bar. The numbness he had felt as he was pushed to the ground and a needle stuck into the vein at his throat. Drugs had knocked him out fast, but the shock and panic hadn't gone with the loss of consciousness, no they had stayed, even after he had awoken with the first flickers of the Animus trying to connect with the life of Altair. Shock that had made him nearly frozen in fear and stilted his thinking. Making him follow orders blindly, obeying Vidic and his demands of more, more, more.

Sleep had been no respite to it, even in his dreams he had felt the panic gripping him. Chasing him with flashes of blood smeared walls and death only waiting for one misstep. It had stopped finally when Lucy had revealed herself as an ally. Had escaped with him.

He hadn't been free but the numbness of shock had been chased away by the wonder of the Animus. The power and knowledge that had come with the life of his ancestors he witnessed. The truths he had found. The picture that was far bigger than he had ever wished to understand or know.

The plan that had been made before he had even been born, before even Altair had been born.

And now he was the plan. He was the key. Was the EYE and the Eye was he.

Inseparable from each other. A being more machine than human. A power only one man could wield. The one that could wield the Apple. The one that had fled the Vatican so swiftly.

Without him he was only a tool that could not wield itself. A power source without the right connections.

Powerless but drowning in his power.

The plan unfulfilled, his purpose halted, locked away in his body and this cell.

This cold cell.

He pulled the cape firmer around his naked form.

Why was he naked after all? Maybe the time travel was at fault.

Like in those crappy movies from the 80's. Terminator, where the naked form of Arnold Schwarzenegger had come from the future. Stupid.

But no, time travel wasn't the only explanation.

Minerva had made him anew. Made him free from Juno's corruption. Had fused him with the Eye she had built in secret and formed him as a vessel and the Eye itself. She had told him in the long second in which his body had been dying that there was a different way. A way whilst Juno could be stopped before she even had the time to corrupt all of the pieces of Eden and the Eye at the Grand Temple. They just needed time and her machine. Her machine that was now Desmond himself and the time 300 hundred years in the past.

A past were Ezio lived and was in the possession of the Apple that would open the Grand Temple and Desmond himself as the Eye and all the power sources needed to feed it. Together they would chase Juno out of the code. Stop her unfinished plan and her corruption.

She would not see it coming.

Desmond had died on the 21. of December 2012 while activating the Eye to shield the earth. Had fulfilled the purpose Juno had made him for. He still bore the evidence.

His right arm blackened and scarred deeply. It was not painful, just numb and hard to move. His fingers not really listening to the impulse his brain gave them to make a fist but not entirely useless. But useless all the same as long as he was in this cell.

He had not been quite there when two guards, flanked by several others, had frogmarched him from the Chapel to the Castello St. Angelo. They had walked endless steps and cold stone until they had stopped in a half circular room with only three cells lining the walls. They were quite big but empty, only a barred window that let air flow in and some light in. The bars were thick and new. The walls cold but dry. Not really a dungeon he had feared for but a prison he could not get out of that easily all the same.

Especially in his current predicament.

He was still naked except of the cape that not really helped against the coldness in his body. And none of the guards had left the room. All of those who had brought him from the Sistina were waiting in front of his cell, eyeing him with wonder, fear and grim determination to obey their given orders. Orders from the Pope himself.

Another problem he had to face too.

Not only was he in prison, no he also was in the prison of the Grand Master of the Templars himself. Rodrigo Borgia, Pope Alexander VI, mayor asshole and power hungry lunatic.

Desmond sighed and pulled his naked feet under the cape. It was only a matter of time until the man would storm in here and demand answers. Answers Desmond would not give him.

And what would happen then?

He was too scared to think about it. He just hoped that he found a way to get out.

Thanks to Ezios memories he had quite the good plan of the Castello and the ways someone, not afraid of heights, could escape from.

Then he only needed to reach Ezio and he could finally end this story.

The sudden flurry of movement that went through the guards made him look up in alarm. The man all bowed their heads with half whispered greetings of “Your Holiness” on their lips as Rodrigo Borgia stepped into the room. The captain of the guards rushing towards him, so eager that it made Desmond nearly gag. Lunatics, all of them.

The two of them exchanged some words. They were speaking so low that Desmond could not hear a thing. But shortly after the captain saluted and ordered his men to follow him.

The Guards filled out one by one until only Rodrigo remained. His eyes not leaving Desmond for a second as he came nearer.

Desmond was not feeling very well, he wished he could just fall asleep and rest a bit. Not being forced to talk to a murderer and foul person as was the patriarch oft the Borgia Family. A man with a black soul and black hands. Using everything and everyone to gain more power.

Even his children were just tools. The girls to marry off and then kill their husbands or rob them of their money and the boys to wage war in the name of faith and the church. He had twisted them beyond believe, corrupted with power and wealth. A man no one should take lightly, not even a time traveler who was more machine than human. Human enough that he could be hurt, he guessed.

Rodrigo had stopped in front of his cell, even crouching down a bit to be on the same level as Desmond. His pale eyes watching with something close to rapture every twitch Desmond's tired body couldn't suppress. He hated it. Hated it being watched like this. First by his family, then by Abstergo through cameras, even while he had been showering and even his allies, his fellow assassins had been watching him. All the time. And he hated it and feared it. Because it made him feel like a thing, not a person.

It was funny somehow, that he was more of a thing now than ever before.

“What are you? Did you come from the Vault?”

Desmond ignored the question, not engaging in any eye contact.

“Don't be afraid. You may speak if you like.”

Rodrigo's surprisingly gentle voice and open face irritated Desmond immensely. What did that man think he would accomplish with this farce. Desmond knew who he was after all.

“Stop that old man, you are not the one who will get any answers from me.” Desmond spat, his voice grating in his own ears and reminding him that he was very thirsty.

Rodrigo pulled back as if he was whipped. His face loosing all faked gentleness in an instant.

“Do you even know who you are talking to?” he raged, fists balled and chest heaving in indignation.

Desmond was not able to stop the tired grin pulling on his dry lips. “Yes, but I do not care!” he growled and turned away, pulling the cape tighter.

The man started raging, cursing and when Desmond did not react he left.

Hopefully he would stay away.

But when several heavy footsteps and the sound of weapons and armor moving in the corridor could be heard, Desmond knew that he was screwed.

Men like Rodrigo only knew one language.

Violence.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for giving this fanfic a chance and thanks to those two nice people who left comments and all those who help out with kudos. Very much appreciated, thank you all.
> 
> Now I go the easy route of making Desmonds life a shitty one and let the Borgias have a go at it. Sorry, not sorry.  
> It'll be a bit gruesome in the next few chapters until he can get out of there, so beware of some blood and so on.
> 
> And just a heads up. I will sadly not include all those nice italien words that the voiceactors used to put into the game because I'm not even steady with most words in english or my mother tounge german... yeah, you all have to imagine those sexy italian accents they have. Maybe a bastardo or something like that will find it's way into the fic...
> 
> But anyway, thank you and see you next time.  
> Hopefully not that far in the future!  
> Cheers


	3. A cost paid in blood and fingers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!  
> I'm not well but I wanted to write something and had the half finished chapter just lying around so yeah, here it is. Hope it is okay and I will have some more the following days.  
> For now, please enjoy the torture of poor Desmond and thank you all very much for the kudos, comments and bookmarks, they help. Thank you!

Yes violence. In this case torture.

It took them several days to realize that yes they can injure him, hurt him, maim him, but not kill him.

Desmond was not able to die.

A realization that had come quite through an accident. They weren't supposed to leave him submerged that long. They had tried something new, after Rodrigo had tired from asking always the same questions, what or who he was. How to wield the power everyone could still feel by only standing next to him. None Desmond answered even with a sound. Rodrigo had left his three torturers alone to tender the unwilling man up a bit more. The men now unsupervised had not even been sure if it would work but had been so eager to try. They had used the bucket in which they had always put their heated irons to cool them after they had burned new markings in raw skin. Had just pushed his head under water.

He'd struggled as hard as he'd been able to, what had only made them laugh louder. He was weak after several hours without a drink, days of no sleep, no food and constant pain.

While his lungs struggled to keep the air in them, one of the men had kicked him in the ribs. The pain and force behind the kick had made him open his mouth and breathing in water. He had simply drowned and had felt every second of it.

His body had struggled for oxygen that never came, organs failing, his heart loosing the battle without air and his mind flickering away, like a candle that had been blown out.

Darkness followed. A darkness were he knew he still existed but could not think, could not move.

Could just wait.

And he would have loved to wait a bit longer.

He came back to screaming and the sound of steel impaling flesh. Gurgled sounds of someone suffocation on his own blood and more screaming. When he finally opened his eyes he blinked at the stone ceiling of an unknown chamber. It was not the same room they had been torturing him in for the last days. He knew that ceiling by heart now. And he wasn't naked anymore.

After Rodrigo had called for his men and they had pulled him down into the dungeon to get sliced open several times a day, the cape had been taken away and he had been naked ever since. Now he was rolled into a dirty and rough canvass, secured by a rope.

A typical way to transport corpses in.

The second death gurgle of another man made him finally take in the room he had woken in.

It seemed to be a chamber in the higher levels of the Castello, most likely near the living quarters of the Borgia themselves when he took in the expensive looking carpet one of his torturers had suffocated on his own blood on. A second one was already on his way to the same fate sinking down on the red carpet.

Maybe the carpet was only red because so many had bled on it to death, were the macabre thoughts Desmond entertained while he watched Rodrigo go to town, with a dagger, on another man. Seeing someone else's blood being spilled was somehow calming. He had been very tired of the sight of his own after awhile.

He could have watched that show a bit longer, had not a guard seen him with open eyes and not dead.

Rodrigo rushed over, leaving the dagger and the third dead man behind on the red carpet.

With wild eyes he looked at Desmond.

Desmond looked back calmly. He was again in shock and the numbness was soothing after all the panic and pain he had endured while being tortured. He knew that none of this was healthy in any way but the numbness stopped him from loosing his mind. If he not already had lost it. Long ago.

“Father, what is this ruckus?”

A snide voice disturbed the shocked silence that had filled the chamber.

Desmond knew who that voice belonged to.

Cesare Borgia had entered the room.

His voice had been burned into Desmond's memory after he'd witnessed through Ezio the destruction of Monteriggioni and Mario's death by Cesare's hands. The voice of another Borgia who loved destruction and bloodshed and who was much more sadistic than his father.

Said man came nearer, curiosity quite obvious on his face.

Rodrigo had righted himself again, facing his son head on.

“Lucrezia has told me that you have been quite occupied in the last week, not even visiting her once. She is pouting, Father. You did not even see her after the mass on Christmas.” he grinned, still looking at Desmond who was debating with himself if he should play dead again, just to get away from those crazy men.

Stepping around his panting father Cesare knelt down next to Desmond and pulled at the canvass enveloping his battered body. His eyes kept roaming over half closed wounds, weeping burns and discolored skin marred with dark bruising. The obvious wonder and glee in those piercing brown eyes made Desmond feel sick to his stomach. He would have loved to hurl sick at the man had he even anything left in his body. Even his veins felt empty and deflated.

The power thrumming uselessly under his skin. Keeping him alive but not helping with healing or making him more durable. Just not able to die, even without food or a proper drink for days now. His body just went on breathing. He felt so useless.

The sick and twisting feelings got even darker when the younger Borgia started to talk again, still looking at Desmond with his crazed eyes.

“Who is he?” Cesare asked his father who was watching them with worried eyes. Even he was aware of the darkness in his son that was even greater than the one residing in himself.

“What he is, is the question.” Rodrigo spat and turned towards a table to the side where he gulped down some wine out of a glass chalice. Cesare stood up and followed his father, not leaving Desmond out of his sight. Desmond shivered in disgust and fright.

“And what is he, father?”

“A monster, an abomination! He was dead! He was drowned a day ago and now he is awake!” Rodrigo's voice was unrecognizable in his hysteria. He threw the glass at Desmond who turned his face away in the last second and rolled to his side. At least he had not to look at them anymore.

He did not care what they were discussing. He just wanted to go, leave this place.

Hands pulled at him, turning him on his back again and he had the pleasure to be looking at Cesare kneeling at his side.

Oh joy.

“And he really came from the Vault and was glowing?” the man asked his father while he touched the faint lines that had once shone so brightly on Desmond's whole body. They now looked more like very old scars. White lines running like Isu circuits under his skin. Not even the crude torture inflicted on him could disturb their other worldliness.

“I can feel the power, Father!” the younger Borgia exclaimed, pulling away but staying where he was, still looking at Desmond, but now with the same look of greed and hunger in his eyes the old man possessed.

Desmond couldn't suppress the shivering. Those men were more than disturbing.

“Yes, and we will harness it. We will use it against our enemies and smite them all!” Rodrigo had joined them, laying a hand on his son's shoulder, looking down at Desmond as well.

“But first we need to make him talk.”

“Can he even speak?” asked the younger one, again putting fingers on Desmond's exposed skin. He kept tracing over the very pronounced collarbones on the too thin body of their prisoner.

Desmond shivered in revulsion. That sick bastard's fingers made him want to vomit again. He growled lowly in his throat what made the man chuckle in amusement. How dare that bastard!

“Yes, he can! You disgusting asshole! Let go of me!” Desmond hissed struggling in his dirty canvas bag. At least was his outburst able to dislodged the man's hand on his body. Both men had backed away a bit and were starring again until Cesare burst out into a loud laugh. Even his father looked at him with disturbance now. Desmond felt sick to his stomach and curled into himself, finally freeing his left hand from the canvas to cover his ear. It did not stop the laughing.

“What a funny thing you are!” Cesare Borgia chuckled and pulled Desmond's hand away. His grip tight and bruising. Desmond tried to struggle against him but he had no strength left. Listlessly he let the man do what ever he wanted to do. They were only going to hurt him again anyway. It was easier to go the path of least resistance. A thing he learned while being held prisoner before. Just bide your time and wait.

Cesare was stripping away the canvas slowly, revealing all the damage they had already done to his body. And the damaged arm he had been left with after merging with the eye.

“This is not the work of your men, I presume.” the younger Borgia mused, studying Desmond's right arm. The skin now not only burnt looking but being filthy like all of Desmond from the grimy dungeon and torture chamber. How he wished to take a bath.

Rodrigo had stepped closer again looking at what his son was pointing out. He shook his head, sipping at the new goblet of wine. “No, he appeared with this one already damaged. He cannot use it and has no feeling in it.” That was true. Desmond had felt the burns and cuts and all the other cruelties they had inflicted on his week body, but not on his arm. After they hadn't had any flinching or hissing reaction from their prisoner they stopped tormenting his stiff limb.

Ceasare's hands were suddenly grasping said limb and pulling it free from the canvas sheet. Pulling until he could uncurl the burnt fingers who were stiff and making a loose fist. Desmond eyed the procedure with mounting dread. When the bastard pinned the limb down with his knee and a very sharp looking knife was pulled Desmond started to struggle in earnest again. Even if he had not much feeling in his arm, it still hurt when it was moved around and he did not trust any Borgia with a knife any where near any part of him.

Cesare chuckled again and shushed him halfheartedly. “I just want to know if you really can't feel a thing.” he said while lowering his knife. Desmond had to crane his neck to see what the man was doing. The blade cut swiftly into his pinky, parting burnt looking skin with ease. He could see it and he even felt the cool blade but no pain, just the usual ache he had felt since coming from the vault. Ceasare was looking at him curiously and wiggled the blade back and forth. A strange sound escaped Desmond. Not of pain more of horror.

“I see.” mumbled the other man and pulled the knife back, only to plunge it back into the same cut putting all of his strength behind it. A sickening crunch was heard and Desmond screamed. There was no pain, but he could feel his bone braking, being torn in two by the knife. It was over in seconds. “Not totally numb I see.” his tormentor mused picking up the finger that had been severed under the second knuckle, showing it to Desmond, who lay panting and shivering under him. Tears filled his eyes.

“Now, how about you'll answer some of my fathers questions, or I liberate the next one too.” Cesare grinned, waving Desmond's bloody pinky back and forth.

“Fuck you! And fuck your whole rotten family!” roared the injured man, spitting at Cesare and struggling away. A direct hit to his face made him shut up again. His nose and lip burning as he felt blood fill his mouth. He just spit it back at the other, hissing other insults at them.

He stopped instantly when the knife was back, being pushed into the flesh of his ringfinger. “Tell me how to harness your power. Are you one of those who came before? Another artifact in the body of a man?”

Desmond shook his head. The knife went deeper. He shook it again. “Never you sick assholes!” were his last words before the knife reached bone again and was pushed trough, agonizingly slow.

When the blade connected with the stonefloor under it Desmond felt darkness enveloping him and he followed it gratefully into blissful nothingness.

 

“The Orsi-Brothers are dead. I had my forces pull back from their advances towards Forli and have them waiting in the fields only four days from the Assassini Fortress. They have been stocking up their defenses but it will be not enough to deter our forces father.”

“And what about the Apple?”

“My spies in Monteriggioni told me that the Assassin Ezio Auditore and his uncle have returned with the treasure. It is kept in the villa for now.”

“Good. We will join your army and march towards the fortress at once.”

“And what about him?”

The sharp pain of a hard soled boot that connected with his tender ribs brought Desmond back into the there and now. He groaned curling into himself and blinking burning eyes. They felt crusted. Most likely from the tears he had shed after Cesare had cut of his fingers. Oh God, his fingers.

His right arm was still pulled away from his body and it took all of his not existing strength to look at it. Yep, two fingers were missing. The bleeding had stopped thankfully. The rather large pool of it, that had now congealed on the floor, was concerning but as they had established he was not able to die, blood loss would most likely not kill him. Hopefully.

“He will stay. Maybe when we get the Artifact we can use him.” Rodrigo said, turning away from his son who was looking down at Desmond his boot connecting with his ribs a final time before he turned away.

“When shall we depart father?” he asked as he walked back towards the table with the refreshments. Rodrigo had taken a seat behind the massive oak desk looking over some documents.

“Tonight. Call for the guards and escort him back to his cell. I will join you and Lucreazia for dinner before we ride for the Toscana.” he said taking the refilled goblet from his son.

“Very well father.” Cesare said and turned back to Desmond who had finally grasped what they had been talking about while he had been in delirium. Oh no, they were going to trash Ezio's home, kill Mario and take the Apple. He still remembered the pain he felt while living through Ezio's life. How lost and forlorn and broken the strong man had felt, after not only loosing his home, but also his uncle and for a while his sister and mother. He had grieved with him. He was grieving still. It had been more real than the life out of the Animus. Everything he had relived in all of his ancestors lives had been more real to him than the people around him.

But here and now felt more real than ever, because it was real. He was here, listening to the Borgia planning to kill Ezio and Mario, destroy Monteriggioni, take the Apple. And he could not do anything against it. He was powerless.

Hands gripped him by the arms and pulled him up. They gave him no time to find his footing and he let them just pull him along, his toes and the end of the canvas dragging over the stone floor.

Desmond did not look where they were going. He did not care. He was tired.

Like a sack he was thrown down, landing in a pile of hay, that luckily dampened his fall a bit and was a small insulation against the cold floor under it. Without opening his eyes he pulled the canvas tighter and curled his right arm towards his chest so it was hidden by the rough material. He did not look at it this close, did not want to see the stumps.

“No one will touch him until my father and I return. Feed him once every second day and empty the waste bucket at least daily, I don't want him stinking up to my sister's chambers. Women have such sensible noses.” he heard Cesare Borgia command as the metal door to his cell was closed with a final bang. Something hit Desmond's head and he opened his eyes a small fraction. A filled water skin lay beside him. Coming aware of his dry throat and terrible thirst again, he grabbed for it with stiff fingers. Glancing towards to cell door he opened it and took a deep swallow. He nearly choked as the taste of sour wine hit the back of his parched throat. He spit and coughed harshly, making his throat ache even more. Mean laughter made him open his tearing eyes, looking at Cesare grinning cruelly, the two guards behind him laughing. “It looks like he does not like that one.”

“It's more vinegar than wine my lord.” one of the guards said, still laughing. “Next time give him water, even though his face is very amusing.” the young Borgia said, finally turning away and leaving, taking the guards, who were still making sounds of amusement with him.

Desmond followed them with his eyes until they had left. Still coughing he pushed the water skin away and pulled the canvas around him again. He felt empty and welcomed the sleep that was finding him quite fast. At least he did not see Mario die again in person, he thought before his mind went blank and his rasping breath slowed down in rest.

 


	4. Apple of my Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo again.  
> Jup, that was a longer brake. I'm quite sorry but you would not have liked what i would have produced in the last months. It would have been just weird shit without structure because my brain did not work thanks to chemo. That's over now and I can concentrate again! Wuhuuuu!  
> Concentrate enough to write more tortured Desmond, yay!  
> Hope you like it and jup, it stays dark for now. Muhahahahaha!!!
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and the nice comments! And for all of you who checked this out and had some fun with it.  
> See you next time!

Time had been a rather loose concept to him in the last months. Inside the animus he had lived complete life times, while outside of the machine only hours or days would go by. Sometimes, mostly in the last days spent in 2012, he wished to just stay in his ancestors lives. Yes, there had been a lot of grief, death and horror those three assassins had to live through but it was more free than Desmond's own life.

His childhood home had been a prison to him, his parents the wardens. He left and had enjoyed some years of freedom. It had not been easy, he had to change location quite frequently to not be discovered and the constant paranoia made his life stressful and sometimes empty. Trusting other people had not come easy. But after finding his calling as a bartender, he finally found a place to call home and some people he could trust with the basics of his life.

Sadly his own cockiness had brought him to the attention of the Templars. The boogieman his parents always warned him of. His stay at Abstergo was something he'd never forget. First the panic of waking up in distorted memories of his ancestor and then Vidic's cruel ways of keeping subject 17 in line, was burned into his memories and the threat of being stripped to the animus while forced into a coma was something still coming up in his nightmares, together with the blood on the walls. Clay's finger painting was something he never ever would be able to forget.

As well as Lucy. The bad ass woman, busting him out and taking down goons left and right. He really missed her. He still mourned her, even though she had been a traitor, but what did it concern him. She was the one who kept an eye on him when he started to suffer from the bleeding effect. She helped him cope and kept him sane after hours in Ezio's world. Sean and Rebecca had helped too, in their own way and he truly missed them too, but Lucy had been special. Most likely because she had to witness Clay, subject 16, going mad and suffering until taking his own life and wanted to help Desmond not going down the same route.

Going mad was always in their cards.

Desmond went mad after Juno forced him to kill Lucy. He could not cope and together with some apple shenanigans he found himself inside the animus database, where the last digital dregs of Clay still lived.

He almost felt free there, but the reality was not far. Some snippets came through. He heard the others and especially his own father talking about him. He did not really wish to return but this digital world was damaged and Clay was right that it only was a crutch for Desmond's grieve and his unwillingness to accept his fate. The Isu had a plan and he was the key.

Leaving Clay behind nearly broke his heart again. The man had been a bit odd but what could you expect from a dude made out of the fragments of code that had been copied into to animus, from a mind that had lost it's fight with insanity. Coming out of his coma with a new direction where the Isu wanted him to go had helped him come to terms with his father being there.

It had been hard seeing him again and him being a bigger asshole than before were not making it any easier for Desmond. Sean and Becca stood by Desmond's side but William was the mentor of the assassins and all of them had work to do. Rescuing the world.

Desmond had spend nearly all his time in the animus. Coming out briefly to be hunted by Juno or berated by his father to work more. Eating had felt like chewing dust so he mostly stopped when the others were not looking. Becca suspected that he was more or less starving himself but the stress and the limited time they had made her not vocalize her concern.

Desmond appreciated her not nagging him, his father did it well enough.

Time had been the most distorted in the last two weeks before the flare. He lived years in the animus, following Connor, learning with him, living through him, but when he left the animus time seemed to run. His mind was spinning constantly and the stress left him sleepless, so he went back into the animus to feel calm.

At last they had found all the power sources and even his dad had stopped his nagging after witnessing Desmond's prowess as an assassin while busting his ass out from Abstergo. They finally could open the gate to the elusive machine and Desmond was ready. He was fed up, tired and strangely at peace with himself. He knew that coming out of it alive was not likely. He was okay with his death.

And death came.

First light, then fire, then pain. Then nothing.

Finally time had stopped and he could rest, or so he thought.

Then in the last milliseconds, while his arm burned and the force field of the eye protected the earth from the flare, Minerva revealed her final plan. A plan where Juno would never find the time corrupting the future and the earth still could be saved.

He melded with the powerful machine called the Eye and was taken with it to the past. A past where Juno hadn't finished her plan yet.

Time had started for Desmond anew but now he wished it would be distorted again, because time spent waiting in this cell was mind numbing and panic inducing all the same.

 

They had left him alone for weeks now. He knew that the new year of 1500 had long passed and that Monteriggioni must have been destroyed by now. Mario dead, Caterina Sforza in captivity and Ezio wounded on his way to Rome. And the apple in the hands of the Borgia.

They would bring it back to Rome, bring it back to Desmond and he really did not know what would happen then. He had the feeling that without Ezio not much would come out of it. Without the prophet they could not use the full power of Desmond the Eye. But still the apple was powerful on it's own and he already dreaded how the likes of Cesare and Rodrigo might use it.

But for now he could only wait. And he hated it with all his being. His boredom only broken by the day and night circle and the guards.

Once a day a guard would bring him water and empty his bucket, even though it was not used much because Desmond was not able to eat. Food still tasted like ash and sand so he mostly left the bread, they brought every other day, alone.

The guards had stopped bringing him food four days ago and he was relived by it. Wasting food had always made him feel very guilty after his upbringing at a place where they had grown their own crops and lived from what they were able to hunt so food was never in abundance.

At least his body was healing even without sustenance. Most of his wounds were closed and scabbed over. The stumps of his severed fingers were still raw and red but a small layer of skin had been growing for a few days now. With morbid curiosity he was watching them heal. His right arm was still stiff and moving it on it's own was hard, but at least his stumps did not hurt.

All wounds were healing faster than normal. The one thing, next to not dying, he had to thank the power he was a vessel now for.

Next to watching his wounds heal there was not much to do. He still only had the dirty canvas to clothe himself in and the cold winter air rushing freely through the small windows in each of the three cells, that made up the whole room, left him lethargic and curled up in a corner most of the time. He'd never thought that winter in Italy was just like normal winter. There even had been snow a few days ago. While living through Ezio's memories of Rome there never had been any shift in the seasons, even though it had taken several years to hunt all the Borgia allies down and built up the brotherhood. Rome had always been sunny and bright. The reality was cold, damp and gray, like most winters he had witnessed.

To distract him in his waking hours he used his eagle vision to look around. After melding with the eye in the grand temple his ability had changed noticeably. First of all it was reaching farther than ever. Having still a good memory of the Castello he was sure that he could see all of its inhabitants. Many red figures and a lot of white ones. He kept watching through the floors how the guards walked their paths, changed shifts and going to their barracks in the yard down at the lowest level. He also saw some odd shapes being lit up in white which he guessed had to be riches or important documents. But nothing was glowing in the colors of blue or gold. No allies or important figures. He still wished to see the blinding gold that had been Ezio, but until his ancestor would come more than a year would go by, when his memory was not deceiving him.

Ezio had come to St Angelo after Caterina Sforza had been brought here in the summer of 1501, to rescue her and kill the Borgias. The first thing he accomplished with a lot of skill and luck, but Cesare had already left and Rodrigo had not been at home too. At least his one time lover had been safe and free afterwards. Thinking about the time he had spent in Ezio's memory after rescuing Caterina, how grateful the man was that Cesare had not hurt her and she had been kept quite comfortably at her own home in Forli with her children, Desmond did not notice the sudden flurry of motion in the corridor.

Curled up in his corner he was facing the cool stone and had closed his eyes, nearly going back to sleep, when he felt something warm tingle behind his eyes. Tiredly he opened them and his eagle vision activated at once, zeroing in on a brightly golden object that had entered his field of awareness.

The Apple.

The apple had just been brought to the Castello.

He could feel the Isu technology in himself reaching out for the key it needed to fulfill its purpose. A warmth spreading through his cold body, urging him to stand up and go to it. As if in trance he followed the call and only came back to his senses when he collided with the icy and sturdy bars of his cell.

Shit, the apple was here, that meant the Borgia were back too.

With dread he followed the apple's ascent into the Castello, a cloud of red figures surrounding it. Two of those were especially deeply red in color, like congealed blood. Like the blood they had shed in Monteriggioni. Mario's blood.

Desmond felt sick to his stomach. Luckily he hadn't eaten in a long while, he would have lost it by now.

The apple was still pulling at him, getting stronger by proximity, as was the warmth he was feeling. It was nice to not be so cold any longer but he needed to steel himself for it's arrival and the people who would bring it. They should not see him happy or hopeful looking for the apple. He would never tell them his purpose and he hoped that the apple would be useless in combination with him without the prophet wielding the power. The artifact would still be able to manipulate human minds, as well as any machine built by the Isu, but it's main function, opening the lock to the temple and the Eye would only be revealed by Ezio. It was written into it's program. But he was not sure what would happen without his ancestor holding it.

He really hoped nothing bad, or at least nothing bad for him or normal people. If the Borgia men disintegrated like the Nazi's in Indiana Jones, after looking at the open Ark of the Covenant, he would be more than happy. Wishful thinking he supposed but still more positive than the panic rolling in his guts.

He returned to his corner and waited, following the red cloud with his vision.

They took their time. Moving slowly, stopping and most likely talking to guards that came to report stuff or greet them. Some white figures had joined them half way and Desmond watched as they skipped his floor with the cells. Going up to the living quarters where another red figure, Lucrezia, the woman had left the Castello several times over the weeks, rushed towards them.

Desmond closed his eyes when the figures met in hugs and kisses. He had witnessed some of the incestuous behavior through Ezio's eyes in his memories and that had been more than enough for his poor mind. Okay, he has had a crush on several of his ancestors, but those were dead men in the past and not his brother or sister. He canceled the eagle vision and looked at his naked and dirty feet.

It was late in the day, he might be left alone for the night.

He was fine with that, even though the apple still beckoned him. The warmth stayed with him and he curled deeper in his canvas to preserve the small respite from the cold falling through the window.

Sleep came easily this night and he was thankful for it.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day was grey and as cold and wet as the last. January, or February was quite miserable in Rome.

He was aware that Becca just programmed the Animus to display always sunny weather because they had to compromise somewhere with baby. Being chased by Abstergo and hiding in ruins had made it hard to access the needed electrical power for the processors without noticeable spikes in the grid. When they had relocated into the grand Temple in New York, they had used the grid left by the Isu. More power than an Atomic Plant could produce in several years Becca had told him with a wide grin. She had modified babie's settings and Desmond had been able to relive Connor's memories with all the weather that the north of America could display. The immersion had been so perfect, together with the bleeding effect he'd felt much more disorientated after coming out of the Animus. The memory more real and inviting than the reality.

He felt sadness thinking about it.

It had been the last weeks with his friends and even his father. He had made peace with him and the past they shared but he was still angry and had wished to hear a proper apology from the man that had tormented his childhood. And he wished he had been able to say goodbye to his mother. She had been a bit absent in his upbringing. Leaving most of it to William, which had been training from the day on he could walk. She had been on missions often and when she was home they did not talk about what his father and him had done, he and her were more concerned with making the most out of the time with each other. He loved her, like any child would love a parent, but he did not know her. Something he would never be able to amend. He did not know what'll happen to him after he fulfilled the purpose Minerva had send him back for, but he was quite sure that he would never see his time again.

He had died once, dying a second time would be so much easier and less painful he hoped.

Heavy footsteps disrupted his morbid thoughts. He looked up and found the usual guard with his water ration in front of the cell. The man exchanged the big vessel made out of red ceramic with a fresh one and left not uttering a single word. At least the Borgia guards where some what professional and left him in peace. No one had dared to lay a finger on Desmond's body and no taunts had been uttered in his present. The unearthly markings on his body made the men a bit fearful without their brash leaders who thought themselves standing over any god. There was no god after all, even though Rodrigo and his brood did not know that.

There were just aliens who made the human race as slaves. Intelligent and adaptable. More adaptable than their creators and more interested in reproduction. A significant perk in a war against entities with technology that was more powerful than anything humans had ever thought of. The power of numbers won in the end. What was left were empty temples, powerful artifacts with mind numbing powers and memories in code that were still trying to affect their creation. Juno had found a way to live beyond the first flare. Found a way to rule again after the second one. Desmond an unwilling partner to her deception.

Minerva had built the probability of Desmond. A human with as many Isu gene's as was possible, with memories of ancestors in his blood who had been in contact with her. Juno had used her work, him, Desmond, for her plan. Without his interference in the past she would rejoin the world in 2012 and regain power over the humans. They would be slaves again.

A perfect world, just as the Templar's had wanted, only without them having the power. They would be slaves like all the rest of humanity. A fate Desmond wished no one would ever experience. He had seen and felt the helplessness while being controlled by this power. He had seen it's effect through Altair as he watched his mentor and father figure use the apple on his brothers. And he had felt it as his blade plunged into his friends chest. Lucy dying.

He would never wish this fate to anyone, but he still chose this fate as he put his hand on the Eye. He also did not wish for the world to burn. For most of them to die, just to rebuilt it anew. With him as the hero, mentor and guide. A role he could never fulfill with the grieve of having lost most of the world to a burning death. He chose enslavement. Humans were still creative and would find a way he'd hoped as he grabbed for the Eye and let himself burn.

He'd felt guilty and relived to not be involved with it anymore. For just a few moments he knew he died but then Minerva intervened.

He did not know if this was better now. Being imprisoned by the Borgia. Injured behind bars, waiting, waiting for Ezio to come.

But before his ancestor arrived, Desmond had to deal with his captors who were just on their way, the apple in their possession.

The blood red figures were alone, as they made their way three floors down from their quarters to his cell. They dismissed the guards in the corridor. Even the Borgia were not stupid enough to let any one not initiated see what they had in their possession.

Desmond stood up as Rodrigo Borgia, followed closely by his son Cesare, stepped into the half circle room with the three cells, only the middle one occupied. Brushing straw from his canvas he tried to appear not affected. His heart was racing and he feared that they could hear it even from several feet away. The men stopped and just looked at him. Desmond did the same, changing to his normal vision.

Cesare appeared a bit rumpled. He had some small cuts and bruises on his pale face. The rest of his body encased in thick but expensive cloth that hid other blemishes. He seemed to favor his left leg, the right one most likely sore from injury or strain. Desmond hoped it hurt. He wished the cuts would leave ugly scars, just to remind the man to never attack an assassin fortress again. Rodrigo only looked a bit tired but that must have been the too long journey and his age. With his seniority of 68 years, any journey had to be exhausting. Desmond did not feel a sliver of compassion, especially when he saw what the man held in his gloved hands. It was a box, wooden, quite plain, but it's content was nothing like the outside. He could see the rich golden glow without activating his vision.

It was so warm, like the sun and for a moment he closed his eyes and basked in it.

“OH!”

The exclamation of wonderment from one of the others made him open his eyes again fast. Both men stared at him intensively. Desmond could not understand what had made them react like that and looked down on himself. Most of his body was covered by they canvas, but those parts that were in the open were glowing intensely. “Oh.” he mouthed and pulled his arms back into the cloth. His feet he could not hide.

Wonderful, his career of a light source was inescapable, he thought sourly.

“Let's see what happens when we open the box.” Cesare told his father who was still clasping the wooden crate in his hands. Desmond saw him nod, not letting him out of his sight. Desmond steeled himself. He did not know if anything would happen, but he would be expecting anything and nothing now, just to be safe.

Rodrigo's right hand was shacking visibly as he pulled on the lid.

The whole room was suddenly plunged into a brilliant golden light. Desmond closed his eyes and turned away from it but he could feel the warmth intensify in his body. He let the canvas fall and bathed in the rays that were as warm as the sun in summer. For once in many months he felt good. His body did not ache, his stomach did not feel hollow, his bones not brittle and his muscles not sore. The bright light faded slowly until only a golden hue was left. Desmond opened his eyes to see the Isu circuit under his skin still shining. The power in himself felt more on the surface than ever before. He could nearly grasp it, use it to flee. But he was still only the machine and not the user. Frustrated he looked back to the men.

Both were not starring at him, but at the wooden box in Rodrigo's hands. Desmond did not understand why until he really looked at what had changed.

The apple wasn't glowing anymore. In fact it did not even look like the normal apple any longer. More like a ball made out of bronze with a weird patterns carved into it. Desmond tried to feel for it, but there was no big ball of power, only a small flame of warmth, like the winter sun. He changed his vision and even there it looked pale. What had happened?

Did the power drain? But where?

The answer came rather fast when Cesare looked up again and his searching gaze found Desmond's now naked figure.

“Father, look!”

Rodrigo seemed to be woken out of a trance and he blinked several times before his eyes widened comically, when he looked at Desmond.

He started to feel quite uncomfortable. With a feeling of dread he lowered his gaze, only to close his eyes again in disbelieve.

He was still gloving but what was making his mind reel was the state of his body.

All the wounds that had been healing or were already scars had disappeared. No blemish from the torture remained. Desmond looked again, raising both arms. His right arm, the black skin had not changed, but where there had before been only stumps, two new fingers had appeared, both glowing gold. Completely floored by his new limbs he made a fist, as fast as his stiff arm allowed and opened and closed it repeatedly.

The apple had made him grow new fingers and healed him completely.

“Guards!” Rodrigo's panicked voice brought him back to the there and now. Both men had stepped back until they were nearly at the threshold to the room. They were pale and Cesare looked from the inactive apple to Desmond's glowing form with a mixture of horror and wonderment. Rodrigo was just pale as ash and trembling.

Good, they should be afraid!

Several armed and armored men rushed to the Borgia's aid, but stopped when they saw Desmond's shining form.

“Don't stand there like pillars of salt and restrain him!” Cesare raged, stepping forward but not far.

His men flanking him in formation. Even in their panicked and confused state did the guards react and push forward. They were really well trained, Desmond had to acknowledge.

The one with the key had to take the lead and his shaking hand's had difficulties opening the lock. Cesare had to shout at him again to make him concentrate and the door swung open.

Desmond hadn't felt that good in several days, no weeks, maybe never. Even if his body was still thin from malnourishment, he was sure that he would be able to fend them of. He finally had an opportunity to flee. He could take the apple and run. Find Ezio and finish this.

His lips pulled up into a wide grin when the first two entered his cell.

 

Fighting had been drilled into his mind and body from an early age. After he had fled the farm he vowed to forget everything. He did, but his muscles still remembered and his mind did not erase all of it. The time in the memories of Altair, Ezio and Connor brought it back. Lucy helped him too and fighting became second nature again.

Like breathing. A reflex he just had to call forth, like exhaling. The first two guards fell to the floor unconscious. Two more grabbed for him, but Desmond dodged their hands and got behind them. Three more had stepped into the cell, three more in front of him and blocking the way out.

He pulled back his fist as he ducked and punched the first into his unprotected waist. Luckily this one was not wearing any armor. The other two did, so he let himself fall to the floor and kicked for their legs. One went down, falling on the other holding his stomach and Desmond pushed himself back up. In one fluid motion he grabbed the last ones arm and used his weight to throw him over his shoulder. He heard him crash behind him onto the other two he had evaded before.

The door was unblocked now.

Without thinking he ran.

Adrenalin made him giddy and he let out an elated laugh as he exited his cell. He was free!

Now he only needed the apple and then he could escape over the rooftop garden Ezio had cornered Lucrezia in and climb down the outside of the castello. He knew the way. It would be easy.

Rodrigo was just in front of him, still standing in the door way. The box and the apple in his hands. He would not be an obstacle.

Desmond accelerated his pace and made himself ready to tackle the old man and take the box from him.

He had nearly reached him when his brain reminded him that there had been a second member of the Borgia standing not far away.

Where did he go?

The answer came before Desmond's hands had grasped the box fully.

A sharp pain went through his left leg. He lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. His leg not movable because of the pain. With tears in his eyes he looked up at the shadow that was now directly above him.

Cesare's pale face and cruel features leered down at him. His sword raised and bloody from where he had driven it into Desmond's thigh.

Without a word he lifted his boot and brought it down onto Desmond's head.

Darkness made the pain go away instantly.

 


End file.
